Underwater Christmas
Suddenly there was the sense of coming up from the bottom of a pool. Daylight shone through the water’s surface and ripples from the push of water from below radiated outward. It was not yet the moment to break the plane out of the water and into the air. I forced myself to wait, hold my breath, and persist in the will to resist the urge to break free of the water. Wait.
I had the vision while sitting in church on Christmas Eve morning. Pastor Trevor must have mentioned the candlelight service to be held that evening. “Be sure and come back tonight. It’s going to be great.” I wrote down in my sermon notes “underwater holding my breath—willing myself not to inhale—waiting, willing, waiting for the day to be behind us.”
In November, my son, Dylan, and his wife, Kim took scuba lessons for a Belize dive trip they had coming up. Never at a loss for words, Dylan shared in detail the lesson on self-rescue. At the bottom of the pool or dive sight, you remove your air piece and tanks. Once the gear is completely off your body, you put it all back on while holding your breath and not panicking. I decided there and then I would not be scuba diving. So impressed was I with this procedure, that the idea was still swimming around my thoughts in church nearly two months later. Barging its way into Trevor’s sentence in process came the idea of holding my breath—until Christmas was over.
The Christmas season has become increasingly difficult for me. I am not a therapist, but this sounds like depression. Since we’re being honest, I would say I dread Christmas. “Loathe” sounds like a strong word, but it is a contender for the top three descriptors of my sentiment toward holiday magic. Let me channel some Millennial speak and say “It just doesn’t work for me.”
Don’t throw the baby out with the bath water. Jesus is my Lord and my Savior and celebrating the day of his birth is a grand tradition. A baby born to a virgin is remarkable, especially considering that it had been foretold for hundreds of years leading up to the miraculous event. As if that were not enough on its own, this wonder child would go on to provide the bridge for people to restore their relationship to the Lord, their Creator, and King. Yes, Jesus is a big deal.
Expectation is way out over her skis on this holiday mountain. I love the Winter Solstice signaling that longer days are ahead. As we wait in the short days, why don’t we take a nice break for Christmas? Breaks are bad for business. Turn that frown upside down and a ho, ho, ho we go.
Chopping down innocent trees and hauling them indoors to die a slow death covered in plastic trinkets and lights signals the beginning of my quiet despair. Neighbors cover their homes and yards in outdoor lights, distant cousins to the neon signs and lights in Las Vegas. The lights of many colors are merry, bright, and blinking. At bedtime we turn off all the lights yet illumination reigns, pouring in through the windows. Meteor showers outside are muted. I will wait to oggle at night skies until January.
Steve, my husband, does the heavy lifting of decorating our home. The Engineer of Décor carefully places snowmen, birds, and garland among the houseplants and windowsills. He selected the red candles, Santa candle holders, and tea lights in red and green glass jars from the cupboard. Candles are here and there for proper ambiance. The Engineer then considered the outdoors. He placed a few strands around the front door and bushes. In the back of the house, white lights drape around the Mary and Joseph iron cutouts kneeling beside a baby in a manger. The live pine tree was sparsely decorated indoors. It went outside to live its best life shortly after holiday gatherings.
“What are you doing for Christmas?” The question comes uninvited a million times between Thanksgiving and Christmas and I stifle a scream as I sort through nice ways to say “not much.” It is a common greeting of interest this time of year, and I remind myself to be kind. “How about you?” I ask in return. When will I learn to be faster at greeting and steer the conversation more to my liking?
“Are you all ready for Christmas?” someone slips in. The comment implies that there are hours upon hours of preparations to complete. We all struggle to shop for gifts and get them wrapped. We cook sugar-laden forbidden food and other culinary delights and then invite droves of people into our homes to consume these toxic treats. I listen to The Drive podcast while I cook, hearing Peter Attia, the longevity doctor describe how spikes in blood sugar are accelerators for our early demise. But it is Christmas….
Our family drama has been simmering since Summer. It is a pot with a lid, and the sound of a rattling tells me the contents are now coming to a boil. I borrowed Drama Free from the library. It is Nadra Glover Tawwab’s latest book on navigating family relationships. I hoped to learn how to manage the drama of the boiling pot with grace and ease. Romans 12:18 tells me that I need to get along with others as far as it concerns me. I am doing my best. “Where are you spending Christmas?” a family members ask. It is a loaded question. “Not sure,” I answer. The Engineer shoots me a look that suggests the caboose might be a good place to spend Christmas. Wink, wink.
My pretend little sister, Francie Towne, created Advent cards this year for the holiday season. 24 windows adorn the house pictured on the greeting card, and behind every numbered window is another little drawing. The card lived on our kitchen counter and grounded me to the wonder of the season. Thank God. Thank God for Francie and her art. Advent rocks. I will add it to my gratitude list.
Christmas Day came and went. Before the crumpled gift wrap was even in the trashcan I was jolted back to the underwater feeling by the question “How was your Christmas?” The inquiry is as harmless as aftershocks following a big earthquake, and I understand people are just making conversation. That’s okay, I’m just hiding underwater waiting for when it is safe to breathe again.
I was reluctant to tell Steve about my struggle with Christmas. Together we explored when the trend began and what we might do differently in the future. I suggested that he Google “women wearing Santa hats” to find a more suitable Christmas partner for next year. He rolled his eyes and simply said “Shut up.” I guess anything beats “What are you doing for Christmas?